Yes Sir, Mr President.

We had finally made it through Hell Gate, the East River and round the tip of Manhattan. Our anchorage was in sight, beside the Statue of Liberty. It had been a long, stressful trip, but we weren't there yet. A coastguard boat comes racing over and motors alongside. A crew member leans out of the cabin.

"You're not going to believe this, sir, but the President of the United States is on Governor's Island, over there, and they want to take a photograph with the Statue in the background, and they don't want any boats in it. Would you mind motoring up river for half an hour or so before you come back to anchor. Thanks."

So we can now say that the President asked us to move our boat because he didn't want her in the picture. I'm not sure how to feel about that, offended that our beautiful boat isn't smart enough, or happy that we're not caught in a snapshot of Mr Bush and other world leaders. Ah well, it wasn't personal, they stopped all boat traffic past the island for about fifteen minutes.

So in this issue:
- We get up stupidly early and speed towards Manhattan
- The coastguard closes the river because a lot of people are at the UN today.
- We anchor, leave again, loiter, and finally get let through
- We pass the Wall Street Heliport escorted by gun toting patrol boats.
- The president asks us to get the hell out of his photo
- Lots of big helicopters depart and the coastguard boats all go home
- We get to anchor and can now say we have an apartment a quarter mile from the Statue of Liberty.

You might recall that we got up at 05:45 to be ready to run through the East River with the tide. We'd heard that there might be some security closures tomorrow so were pleased to be going today. There was a nice breeze, we hoisted sail and made great time under the huge suspension bridge at Throgs Neck. There were two other yachts nearby, and we all happily sped along. Until the coastguard broadcast a new set of closures. The whole East River was going to be closed for a couple of hours beside the UN Building, and after that only one side was open, a passage down the east of Roosevelt Island, blocked by a lifting bridge that, when closed, would slice twenty feet of our mast. I like our mast, shorter would not be good. And the guide says it needs six hours notice to open the bridge.

The timing of the closure screws up our timing for the tidal currents. We're going to be over two hours early at the East River and they won't let us through. We listen to another yacht get clarification then we call him to chat. Yep, we're all going to have to hang around a bit. Realising we're foreigners, he apologizes for his government, coastguard and president. Not your fault, we assure him. We drop anchor not far from Flushing Meadow. Tennis anyone?

The coastguard broadcasts information every fifteen minutes. The river will be closed till eleven am. We sit and take stock. Gesa is feeling a little stressed. Narrow and busy river channels, with strong tides, are enough to worry the most experienced mariners and trips like this always put Gesa on edge. Having a section called Hell Gate really doesn't help either. Now the navigational stresses are taking a back seat to the Presidential security zone induced stress. We later learn that Bush addressed the UN whilst we were hanging about waiting. Shortly after that so did President Adjamabad of Iran, so one can safely assume that we weren't the most stressed people on the east side of Manhattan this morning.

Another boat calls the coastguard and gets clarification - he's told the river is closed till 10:30. Hmm, that half hour makes a difference for the tide. I call them myself. Your broadcasts say eleven but I heard you telling another boat ten thirty, can you confirm?. Yes sir, the river will be closed till ten thirty. OK, good, so we up anchor and leave to be there for then.

Only, one hand doesn't know what the other is doing. The coastguard on scene, and the NYPD police boats, clearly believe eleven is the time so we now have Ty Dewi, four other yachts and a tug towing two enormous scrap metal barges all being swept by the tide towards a narrow gap that the authorities are defending with machine gun equipped patrol boats. We all turn around without arguing the point, although one of the other yachts has a half-hearted complaint to the coastguard about inconsistency. We loiter, turning small circles, and the tug goes off for a loop round Brother Island. Sure enough, at eleven we're cleared to go through.

Through the channel with the mast shortening bridge. Thankfully, we'd managed to contact them and yes, they were opening it on request today. We ended up shadowing the barge and it opened for him so we nipped through on his coat-tails. In the end, we followed him all the way because we were only slightly faster and to overtake would have left us in the lead, not my favourite place to be in a busy and unfamiliar harbour. As it was, that was a wise choice for whenever anything moved to avoid the barge, they missed us too.

By midday we are chugging very slowly, the barge and us stuffing into a strong counter current and we could probably have walked along Manhattan faster, even dragging the kids with us. But what views. This is what I have waited seven years for. By now, the coastguard are announcing a further closure at the Wall Street Heliport (perhaps the president has something to say there too, can't think why) and then Governors Island, just off the tip of Manhattan. We try to make contact but to no avail and, although it stresses us (especially Gesa) a bit more, we decide to just plug on and wait for them to stop us if they don't like it.

Just as we approach the heliport, the barge veers off down a different channel so we're on our own. I try calling the Coastguard commander again but no luck so on we go. A fast patrolboat comes alongside but he doesn't call us or step out to talk to us. He's clearly on his radio to someone and I wave my handheld radio at him to say 'talk if you want' but he just sits twenty yards away, moving slowly parallel to us. With his guns pointed mercifully skywards, we decide we're just being 'escorted' and right as we pass the heliport, a big NYPD chopper lands. Gesa decides it's not a good time to be taking photos.

A few hundred yards further on and our escort peels away so obviously getting the kids to show their faces suggests we're not about to drive Ty Dewi into any sensitive structures. We're now right at the tip of Manhattan, rounding Battery Park and the full glory of the skyline is opening up. The security zones and patrol boats are behind or to the south of us and we breathe a sigh of relief. We admire the impressive docks at the tip of the Battery as we pass a hundred yards away. What are those docks for then?.....ah, the Staten Island ferry. Oh, the Staten Island ferry. That rather large orange ferry that's coming up the river. They will be wanting to come here, won't they, and they won't be too pleased to find us in their path. So we should move south a bit. But south is Governors Island, with the 'ring of steel'. Well, I guess I'd rather be hassled by the coastguard than ploughed under by the ferry so we move south. We are left alone and the ferry goes happily on it's way.

So we're free to do the last half mile to Liberty Island and anchor for a well deserved rest. Only, as described, we then have to stay out of the picture for a bit longer. By the time we finally drop the hook, it has taken us eight hours to do the twenty mile journey. It would have been three on a different day. We're exhausted but still manage to open a bottle of wine, dig the chocolate cake out of the fridge and toast our arrival in the Big Apple. I like that fact the we have a two bed waterfront apartment with great views of Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty. It's cool, even if the city that never sleeps makes for the water that is never flat and our anchorage is going to roll roll roll all night. What the hell, we're here.

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